
Dame Edna
“You didn’t wash your car,” she declares as I pull up to the curb where she is waiting, tapping her cane.
“You didn’t wash your car,” she declares as I pull up to the curb where she is waiting, tapping her cane.
Is it a roofing nail? Its
point meant to fill
a cervix. Later, with legs
splayed to lock it in
Here, for a transitory period, existence questioned sometimes,
I make you seen, an invisible pain killing me.
The streets were barren at 3:00 a.m. Up and down the main drag, the bars had all let out. She meandered in a sleepy stupor, bags beneath her eyes slipping off her cheeks. One could say she presented drunkenness.